Requiring Some Resolve Of Her Own
by rann
Summary: BY ARIADNE AND RANN, a prequel to Resolutely Looking the Other Way. The title deals with Marguerite’s willpower at the pond. Roxton resolutely looked the other way mostly while guarding Marguerite as she bathed. If the shoe were on the other foot,


**Disclaimer:** The characters from "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World" are owned by Telescene, NewLine Television, The Over the Hill Gang, Coote/Hayes, etc.  No profit is being made from this story.  No infringement upon copyrighted material is intended.

**Setting: ** Within Nectar, after Roxton, Veronica and Malone escape from the beehive zand before the epilogue.

**Spoilers:** The pilot, More Than Human, Nectar

**Description: **On the plateau, sometimes the protector becomes the protected, but he doesn't always realize it. Or know when it happens.  A prequel to Resolutely Looking the Other Way, with Marguerite a little less resolute. This started as just a bit of a ficlet, however, a ficlet no longer.  As Tolkien said, "the tale grew in the telling".  

**Thanks (I think):  **To CMS who kept after us to fill in the details of what the scene looked like at the pond when Lord John Roxton was there.

**Author's Notes: ** CMS insisted on knowing what happened when Roxton took his swim in the pond.  Ariadne and I collaborated on what could have happened.  Once again we should remind the readers that because we've set this so early in the explorers' adventures, neither Roxton nor Marguerite would act on their desires, however we had no doubt that the desires were there.  (Even if CMS doesn't believe us!)

The title deals with Marguerite's willpower at the pond.  Roxton resolutely looked the other way (mostly) while guarding Marguerite as she bathed.  If the shoe were on the other foot, would she peek?  Would you?

**Requiring Some Resolve of Her Own  
by rann and Ariadne**

The beehive burning behind them spewed dark smoke obscuring the sky.  The two explorers and the jungle beauty ignored it, concentrating on covering as much ground as they could.  The elderly professor could not have much time left.

The trek directly to their arboreal retreat was much shorter than the route they had taken to find Adama and, from her home, the bee's lair.

Breathless, they approached the jungle girl's home. 

"That wasn't there when we left."  Malone looked at the strange configuration of wires surrounding the strangler fig's perimeter.

Veronica reached a hand out.  "What's this?"

Just before her fingers wrapped around the wire, the tall hunter knocked her hand away.  "Careful."  His sharp eyes had picked out the posts wrapped with some kind of material.  His familiarity with many kinds of defenses had identified the nature of this new and unexpected fortification added in their absence.

"So, what is it?"  Malone kept his hand away, grateful that for once he wasn't the one who had been careless.

"Watch out!  It's an electric fence."  Challenger's voice came from overhead.  He stood on the treehouse balcony with a rifle.  Stepping back a few paces he threw a switch.  "It's off now.  It's safe."   

Roxton looked dubiously at the fence.  Looking down he picked up a stick and tentatively touched a wire.  Nothing happened.

"What's the problem?  He said it was safe."  Malone was anxious to get to the more secure environs of the treehouse.

"I prefer a little caution when dealing with electricity."

"I heard about electricity.  Can you really use it for lighting?"  Veronica was continually amazed by the conveniences, bordering on miracles, that she had never seen.  Things that were regarded by her new-found companions as commonplace.

Roxton gingerly touched a finger to the wire.  When no shock came, he gently lifted one of the wires to let his companions slip between them.  "I'm sure Challenger will be happy to discuss the uses of electricity."  As the three entered the lift, the hunter gestured at Malone's backpack where the contents of a broken jar of the queen bee's royal jelly resided.  "But for now let's get this to Summerlee."

Stepping off the lift, Malone gently placed his backpack on the table.  "How is he?"

Challenger laid his rifle down next to the backpack, brusqueness masking his concern.  "Not good.  Did you get what we need?"  He looked to Roxton, who nodded.  

"I'll get a cup."  Veronica offered.

With everything well in hand, Roxton decided to see the elderly scientist's condition for himself.  His step was silent so as not to disturb the patient.  Surprisingly, he heard the murmur of voices. Pausing at the doorway, he was stunned to see their feisty financier holding the weakened scientist's hand, wiping his fevered brow.

"Anna."  Summerlee's voice was faint.  His face, pale, damp.  
  


"I'm here, Arthur."  The gentle, comforting voice was one the hunter didn't recognize.  He'd never heard that voice coming from the spirited Miss Krux.  Her eyes were worried, saddened.  

For an ignoble moment, Roxton felt a surge of jealousy.  Would she have taken the same care of him if he lay ill?  He had thought that all he wanted from her were the sparks and the temper.  A strong Marguerite, who could take the jibes he dished out and return them with an equal flair.  That Marguerite was not only safe to pursue, understanding the game, unlikely to be hurt by his cavalier attitudes; she was also intriguing, a welcome change from the fawning, clinging females who were always underfoot.  A woman worth pursuing, a trophy worth having.  

The Marguerite he had sparred with since they met in London, whom he thought he knew as they journeyed to the plateau, was not the tender vision that greeted his eyes.  Oh, he still wanted that fire and steel Marguerite, but to know that the fierceness hid such compassion made her that much more desirable.  And that much more dangerous to his peace of mind. 

He stood as still as possible, but he must have made some sound.  The bewitching eyes of the slender woman suddenly met the intrigued, hazel eyes of the broad shouldered hunter.  It was one of the few times that he could recall seeing her discomforted.  A cutting remark about maternal instincts died on his lips.

"Did you find a cure?"  Marguerite strove to cover her unease with being found in what she considered an overly sentimental attitude.  It wouldn't do for any of her companions perforce to think she had a soft side that might be exploited.

"We got it."  Roxton replied briefly, still bemused by image in front of him, 

"By the look of you, I don't want to know how you got it."  Marguerite resorted to the tried and true tactics of attacking to cover her defenses.

Roxton glanced down at himself and a reluctant smiled was pulled.  "I didn't like how we got it either."

"Anna."  The faint voice from the bed pulled their attention back to Summerlee.

Marguerite instinctively turned to offer comfort, but then regarded the observer still standing in the doorway.  Her need to preserve the hard-edged image was clear in her eyes. 

"Why don't I see if the medicine is ready?"  Roxton turned back to the great room.  He was almost as unsettled by the unexpected sensitive side of his prickly companion as she was.

"I'm here, Arthur.  Not to worry.  Just rest now."  Her soothing voice was only audible to the gravely ill man on the bed.  And unbeknownst to her, the sharpened ears of a trained hunter.

"Is it ready, Challenger?"  Roxton's voice carried to the scientist who was holding a cup.  A jar containing the remains of the precious golden colored elixir stood on the table.  

"I believe so.  Was Summerlee awake?"  Roxton didn't miss the hopeful tone in the redheaded man's voice.

"He just spoke to Marguerite."

"He recognized her?"  Challenger asked, surprised.

"No, he called her Anna.  He doesn't sound strong.  We may be too late."  Roxton felt obligated to point out the harsh truth.  Holding on to false hopes wasn't good for anyone.

"I refuse to accept that.  He is not dying!  I told him that was not acceptable."

"I hope you're right."  Roxton looked around the empty room.  "Where are Malone and Veronica?"  

"They went to a nearby pond to clean up."  A frown crossed the scientist's face.  "She's certain that this will succeed.  She had better be right."  The last was said with more fervency than Lord Roxton had grown to expect from Challenger.  He had seemed up to this point to be remarkably unconcerned with the fate of his companions.

"I'll keep watch, then.  You help Marguerite with Summerlee."  Roxton picked up his rifle from the table and took up the look out position on the balcony.  Perhaps Marguerite would object less to offering Summerlee comfort in Challenger's presence rather than his.

"Good.  When they return you can switch off the electricity so they can get back in."  Challenger indicated the large switch near the balcony railing.

***

At the bank of the pond, without any ceremony, Veronica dove into the water.  She started rubbing her arms with the soap they collected from the treehouse.  Her spirits were raised after finding Adama; Roxton had given back to her a faith in her own abilities.  Against all the odds and all the stories of the plateau, they had survived the hive.  They'd returned with a cure for the elderly professor.  She refused to believe that the cure wouldn't be successful.

Ned stood, mouth open, watching her, admiring her.  _"She is so unlike anyone I've ever met!"_  

Veronica saw him standing there and splashed him playfully.  "Come on."  

Ned looked away as she pulled her top off and tossed it on the bank.  The thought of joining her in the pond made him blush furiously.  "That's okay, ah, I'll, ah, be fine, I think, right here."  In the back of his mind he kept thinking, _"What would Gladys say?"_  He was afraid he knew.

He took some of the soap and began cleaning the exposed parts of his skin, settling for taking off his shirt.  Studiously he kept his eyes averted from the young woman in the pond.

***

"How is he?"  Roxton asked the beautiful brunette as she walked slowly into the great room.  

Marguerite shrugged her shoulders.  "It's too soon to know."  

The sadness in her bearing was eloquent.  Knowing she was uncomfortable with displaying her emotions, the English lord turned back to watching the jungle.  Tensing, he raised his rifle.  The movement alerted Marguerite to potential danger.  She caught up Challenger's rifle, joining Roxton at the balcony.  

"There!"  Roxton's expert eye picked out the apeman skulking in the bushes near the fence.  

Marguerite nodded, aiming at the creature tentatively picking its way to the wires comprising the treehouse's newest defense.  "Challenger's fence discouraged them the last time."

The beast grasped the wire.  Nothing!  The expected sparks did not occur.  Several more of the creatures approached.  

"Looks like it's not discouraging them this time."  Roxton commented, eliminating the ape in the lead, before turning his rifle's sight to the next interloper.

The slender brunette calmly picked off the next nearest encroacher, murmuring to herself.  "For this I sacrificed my silk…"  Her voice tapered off, unaware that her companion caught the words.

"Make every bullet count, Marguerite."  Roxton didn't look away from the intruders.

"Don't worry, I won't miss."  Marguerite jibed.  "Not like I did in Challenger's study."  

A smile crossed Roxton's face.  He did like the spirited side of Marguerite.  Their combined fire dissuaded the incursion. 

"What's all this?"  Challenger stood in the doorway to Summerlee's room.

"Your fence needs more work!"  Marguerite's eyes drilled into him.

Nonplussed, Challenger grew defensive.  "I don't understand it, the laws of physics…"

"Spare me another paean to your inventiveness.  The fence is not working.  Again!"

A pair of pistol shots prevented Challenger's response.

"Malone and Veronica!"  Roxton scrambled for the elevator.  "They must have run across the apemen."

"Naturally, they would."  Marguerite's sarcastic undertone was in counterpoint to her actions as she darted onto the elevator with Roxton.

"I'll stay with Summerlee, I think he's improving."  Challenger called after them.

Another pistol shot kept the pair headed in the right direction.  The furry bodies of the apemen were visible.  One fell forward, a knife in his chest.  Roxton and Marguerite drew near.  A step behind Roxton, Marguerite had no warning.  The hunter turned and pulled her to the ground.  Before she could react, a bullet slammed into the tree behind them.

"Malone, look where you're aiming!"  Roxton yelled out, crouched on the ground, Marguerite in his arms.  Suddenly, Marguerite found herself dumped on the ground.  Roxton wheeled about, still in his crouch, and began firing.

Muttering imprecations on men in general, with special attention to Roxton and Malone, Marguerite pulled out her pistol, taking down her first target.  The crossfire proved too much for the beasts and they retreated.

Roxton stood, taking Marguerite's arm to pull her upright in a gesture that was more ingrained than courteous.  "You need to see what you're aiming at before you fire, Malone.  If you don't, you're going to end up hurting someone."  Pulling his hand through his still wet hair, the young reporter flushed with embarrassment at the hunter's stern remonstration.  

Roxton made a mental note of the direction they were coming from.  He'd make a trip there later to clean up, but for now he wanted to get his charges back to the safety of treehouse.

"Thanks."  Veronica looked at Marguerite with some surprise.  That the tall Englishman would dash to their rescue was not surprising.  But she didn't think that the woman would have bothered.  Veronica refused to consider anything that Marguerite did as being protective of her companions.  The jungle girl had turned a blind eye to how the Englishwoman had saved Summerlee from being killed outright in the lizard city, and how Marguerite's insistence on Veronica's wearing the harem costume had kept Tribune from slaughtering the young blonde.  

"How's Summerlee?"  Malone asked awkwardly, still uncomfortable about being lectured by Roxton.

"Better than we almost were."  Marguerite was not forgiving of nearly being shot.

"I might have known you wouldn't bother to take care of him."  Veronica accused.

Roxton waited to hear Marguerite's defense.

"Sickrooms are so tedious."  The unfeeling tone set their jungle hostess's back up further.  

Roxton's eyes narrowed as he assessed the beautiful woman again.  Apparently she wasn't going to defend herself against Veronica's aspersions.  He met Marguerite's eyes.  They dared him to open his mouth.  He tilted his head in acknowledgement and held his tongue.  But he filed the information away.  He'd need all the help he could get with bagging this particular trophy.

The treehouse was quiet as the four stepped off the lift.  Veronica's firm step took her to Summerlee's room.  Marguerite watched with inward amusement as Ned trailed along on her heels.  Roxton began to check the loads on the guns, frowning as he reloaded.  At the rate they were using their ammunition, they'd be out in a few more weeks.  Marguerite lagged behind the blonde couple keeping her distance; stopping in the doorway to observe her erstwhile patient.

"How can I ever thank you?"  Several pillows on the bed supported Professor Summerlee as he smiled softly at the two young people.

"I'm just glad it worked."  Malone cheerfully replied.

"Adama's the one who knew what to do."  Veronica wanted to ensure that the older woman received credit for her contribution.

"Will you take me to see her so I can offer my personal thanks?"

Marguerite, satisfied that Summerlee was recovering, slipped back into the great room.  

"Sounds like the old boy is doing fine."  Roxton was replacing the guns and rifles on the rack near the lift.

"He seems much better."  Marguerite agreed watching the hunter as he looked at his pistol then holstered it at his side instead of putting the gunbelt away.

"Going somewhere?"  Marguerite inquired.

Roxton looked at her steadily, but she refused to drop her eyes or back down from the bold look he gave her.  "I need to clean up a bit."  He looked briefly at the sticky residue that still clung to his arms.

"Marguerite."  Challenger's call from Summerlee's room cut off any response she might have made.  The slender woman turned on her heel and returned to the elderly scientist's room.

"I wanted to thank you as well, Marguerite."  Summerlee held his hand out.

"It was nothing, Arthur."

"That I can believe."  Veronica remarked caustically to Malone.

A few minutes later, Marguerite returned to the great room to find it empty.  _"That bloody fool is going to get himself killed.  Why didn't he take someone with him?  Why does he insist on risking himself?"_

Taking her own gunbelt off the rack she buckled it about her waist.  Putting her hat on her head she entered the lift murmuring.  "If he's alive when I find him, I swear, I'll strangle him."  

***

At the base of the strangler fig, Marguerite took stock of the situation.  She thought of where they had encountered the brash young jungle girl and the naïve reporter.  Nodding to herself, she set off in that direction.  _"Now to just stay out of the way of raptors and apemen, piece of cake, Marguerite."_  Her thoughts turned to the hunter she was trailing after.  _"I've a good mind to leave him on his own."_  She paused, looking back to the safety of the treehouse.  Then she saw the still undisturbed print of one of their fiercest enemies on the plateau. _ "No, whether he admits it or not, he saved me from that T-rex.  I won't be indebted to the man."_  Satisfied with herself that her motives were simply logical and not emotional, she rounded the bend on the trail, sure of this portion of her self-imposed task.

***

Roxton surveyed the pond; experienced eyes scanned the shore for nesting places.  The only traces of amphibians he found were some turtles.  The pond's water seemed clear, a varied number of small fish were visible.  The mud on the bank bore no recent traces of any sizable wildlife or apemen.

Satisfied as to the relative safety of the water, sure he was alone, the hunter stripped off his holster, carefully laying it by the edge of the pond where he could reach it easily from the water.  The rifle he set further back.  The boots he also took special care to place.  They'd need to be cleaned and treated when he got back to the treehouse.

Marguerite rounded the grove of trees carefully, on the watch for any sign of danger.  When she was alone, she was as cautious a traveller as Roxton or Veronica.  It was only when she was with the others that she acted callous and heedless of safety.  No sense risking danger merely to put up a show no one would see.  She knew that the pond was somewhere in the vicinity.  She wasn't much of a tracker, but had an excellent sense of direction.  Even though she hadn't been to the pond yet, it wasn't hard to tell which trail Malone and Veronica had been following when returning to the treehouse from their brief bath.

A rustling sound nearby made her whirl around suddenly.  Taking her pistol from its holster, she crouched down; then made her careful approach, making sure that whatever was in the area couldn't see her.  There were many dangerous predators around.

The creature she saw by the pond was very dangerous indeed, especially to her, but it was not native to the plateau.  Lord John Roxton, availing himself of some free time to slip out to the pond, had decided to bathe.

The hunter stripped off his shirt, tossing it carelessly to the ground.  He stopped suddenly as if alerted by some sixth sense and picked his rifle back up, surveying the surrounding jungle.  The normal background noise of the jungle reassured him of his safety.  He returned the rifle to its resting place with care.

Marguerite let out the breath she didn't know she was holding.  Upon her arrival, it occurred to her that Roxton might not appreciate the implication that he needed a bodyguard.  Naturally, it wouldn't do for him to think she worried.  She decided that a more clandestine approach might be in order.  If her assistance was needed she could always argue she was protecting the expedition's hunter, not the man.  

Her breath caught in her throat as he continued stripping off his soiled garments.  She hadn't expected him to be so thorough in his grooming.  She had thought he'd settle for a simple wash at the side of the pond.  Clean clothes lay on the side for when he finished his swim.  With typical masculine disregard for his appearance, his clothes were heaped to the side; by contrast, his guns, boots, and hat were carefully placed.  

Roxton dove into the water with little ceremony, sure of himself, certain of his ability, honed over the years, to read the surrounding jungle.  He surfaced looking about, confident in his own skills to deal with the treacherous environment.

Marguerite saw the water stream from his unkempt hair.  Most often she yearned to trim it back, ridding him of its disarray.  This time the overly long length appealed on a primitive level.  Her fingers now itched to smooth the tangles.  _"Steady, you're here to watch his back, not stroke his ego."_  She reminded herself, forcing her eyes to focus on their surroundings.  

Her eyes were drawn back to the pond where the expedition's hunter was using something that looked like some kind of plant bark.  He must have picked some on his way to the pond.  She could see his large hands rubbing it and then spreading the resulting paste against his skin, to scrub his arms, then his chest as his strong legs kicked just below the surface to keep him afloat. The efficaciousness of his efforts was evident as the sticky residue was removed, but the harshness of the technique made her wince.  However she doubted, even if she had offered, that he would welcome the use of the perfumed soap she had carried with her from London.

As she watched he scrubbed at his face, a slight grimace at the roughness.  His razor stubble was more pronounced than usual, several days' growth instead of just one or the shadow that occurred several hours after shaving.  He continued with washing his torso and his hair.

She waited, unconsciously holding her breath, to see him rise from the water, to wash what remained.  But somehow he confounded her, managing to do the rest of the job while remaining hidden in the water.  Finished washing at last, he dove down once more, swimming just below the surface with strong, steady strokes.

Marguerite watched his naked body come closer only slightly distorted by the water.  Her tongue slipped out to moisten her suddenly dry lips.  She swallowed involuntarily.  

He reached his destination, a large, flat rock at the side of the pond, and pulled himself on to it.  Although the day was somewhat chilly, the sun was warm and tempting.  Like the reptile Marguerite had named him in Challenger's study, Roxton eschewed the clothes lying close by and reclined on the rock to be dried by the warmth of sun.  Arms folded, cushioning his head.  One leg bent at the knee, the other stretched out.  To the casual observer as at ease as if he were on a beach on the Riviera.  But his vigilant, self-appointed guardian had seen him glance over at his weapons, measuring the distance to them, before closing his eyes.  

A drop of water lazily made its way from his hair down the side of his face, his neck and slowly traced its way down his chest.  Marguerite suddenly saw herself on the rock with him, her lips following the path of the water drop, down his neck and chest, lower... She gave herself a mental shake.  That path was a disaster waiting to happen.

Lying there in the sun, Roxton considered the woman he had found so unexpectedly at Summerlee's side.  She was such a contradiction.  Bold and modest, callous and caring by turns.  Never what he expected.  

Curious, for someone who had the money to finance an expedition such as this, that she should be so capable of taking care of herself without a maid to handle the day-to-day chores.  He'd never seen another woman of her upbringing who'd bathe in a river or do her own laundry.  Even on the rare occasions he found them in the more remote locations of Africa or Asia, they'd always required someone else to take care of the menial tasks, to cater to their needs.  

He wondered if she realized how appealing her self-reliance made her to him.  He had no use for the helplessness some women seemed to think he'd find attractive.  _"Weak women for weak men."  _Every time she boldly faced up to him, refusing to back down, meeting the dangers with a disparaging remark, it acted upon him like the supposed aphrodisiacs of the Far East.  And with that independence wrapped in such an attractive package, a saint couldn't resist her.  And he was far from being a saint. 

God knows his behaviour over the past few years had been as far from saint-like as you could get.  When he was in England, every night, too much to drink, too much rich food, too many different conquests.  Conquests – that was a laugh.  His money and title ensured that there was always a willing bed companion when he wanted one.  He'd become cynical every time a woman looked at him.  Not that it stopped him from taking what they offered.  Maybe that's all it was with Marguerite fending him off.  She gave the distinct impression of being a woman of the world, but refused to fall into bed with him.  Challenging him with her efforts to keep him at bay, both with her pointed jibes and, touching his lip with a smile, with more direct physical discouragement when necessary.

She kept her wits about her as well, snatching up his rifle by the banks of the Amazon River to deal with the crocodile.  _"No, caiman."_  He thought with a wry twist of his lips.  Then refused his attempt to carry her.  He considered the number of 'twisted ankles' he'd had to deal with in London, accompanied by gushing tributes to his strength.  Ironic that the woman he wanted to hold, urgently needed to hold after fighting for her, insisted on taking care of herself.  He didn't mind that, not really.  It made the chase so much more worthwhile.  _"If you didn't shed a little blood, it wasn't worth the getting."_  The hunter smiled to himself at the thought of the getting.  The rock in the sun grew a little warmer.

Marguerite stood concealed by the bushes, pistol in hand, watching enthralled by the spectacle that lay before her.  He was a magnificent creature of God's planning, although she could see the signs of a dissolute lifestyle in his body, too much drinking, too many late nights, and just maybe too many ….excesses of the flesh, if the society rumours where true.  Between the dangerous expeditions and overindulgence in society, one could almost think he was trying to throw his life away.

She mentally reviewed the sketchy information she had about Roxton.  It was important for someone in her position to keep abreast of society matters.  She remembered hearing stories and rumours about the deaths of his brother and father and that afterwards Roxton had disappeared from society.  She hadn't realized that he was so young when it happened.  In her perusal of the society journals she only occasionally saw his name in a report of yet another grand and dangerous expedition.  _"What drove him to constantly wander to the far reaches of the earth?"_

Disturbing in a way to consider that his restlessness might have similar roots as hers.  Neither of them settling in one place for long.  Not that she had a place.  

_"Careful, Marguerite, put those thoughts away.  You have another role to play here."_She knew from past experience when living a part, you had to believe in it; if you were to convince others it was real.

But he did have a place.  Yet, it couldn't hold him long.  What quest drew him?  She knew her own quest.  But why his quest mattered so to her was something she couldn't answer.  That thought made her uncomfortable.  The abrupt end to her reflections was almost welcome.  A noise from behind her had her raising her pistol, looking about.  Nothing.  A look back at the beneficiary of this bout of protectiveness showed he hadn't stirred.  Either there wasn't anything there or the noise was nothing to be worried about.  Roxton continued to lounge on the rock, carefree.  She studied him.

_"Still, he is a fine specimen."_  She thought as she gave herself permission to look freely.  And hungrily.  She was disgusted with herself for wanting him, and yet unable to look away.  She remembered the feel of his arm drawing her back against him before the apeman attack when she had attempted to thank him for saving her life.  His hand covering her mouth.  For a brief moment she had been shocked by the force of the erotic sensation when she should have been aware of the danger instead.  

The smell of him.  The feel of his torso and legs against her, caught between the iron strength of his arm and the increasing hardness of his body.  His mind may have been on the apemen attack, but his body had a reaction all its own.  As did hers, she admitted ruefully, shocked to realize that the imperatives of self-preservation couldn't dim the physical magnetism between them.

She remembered again the feel of his lips caressing hers that night in the tree house, his words still echoed in her head.  "Because another voice tells me, you only meet a woman made of fire and steel once in a blue moon… and you don't want to waste her when she's in your hands…."

She'd known better than to give in to the demand of his lips.  Arrogant, bullying man, and still somehow promising all the delights of passion.  It had taken every ounce of restraint not to cave into the demand of his lips.  She'd had to summon all her willpower to bite him, to make her point and walk away from the game he offered.  Her mouth suddenly dry, she forced her mind away from that evening and to the reality before her. 

What surprised her most about him was how his eyes lit up every time she stood up to him.  She could swear he was enjoying it.  In her experience most men preferred to be deferred to, not liking her self-possessed attitude.  It was useful in discouraging the attentions of men she wanted kept at arm's length.  Flattery and false praise kept the ones she could use in line.  To find a man who wouldn't fall for her lines, who's mouth quirked at her sarcasm, and only seemed more determined when she defied him, was beyond her experience.  But, god was it attractive!  Her eyes focused on the rock as she noticed his movement. 

There was a catlike grace about him as he stretched in the sun, shooing away a salamander that had dared come near.  Broad shoulders, lean hips.  Looking at him with a more objective eye, she could see he was already showing the effects of the rigours of their journey, arm and leg muscles stronger, his chest appearing more defined to her observant eye.  Already tanned along his face and lower arms, his chest and shoulders were beginning to give evidence of the warmth of the plateau sun.  

A man to be wary of, for both predator and woman.  For a brief moment she allowed herself to imagine joining him on that rock, to feel the ridges of sun-warmed muscle, to make him writhe beneath her hands, to show him what she could do to a man and why he would forever regret throwing her to the wolves.  And then sanity returned and she took up her gun once more that somehow she absentmindedly had put back in her holster. 

She was nearly undone again as the male animal shifted and smiled.  Whatever he was thinking of was a source of pleasure.  She must have moved, her arm tangled in the bushes.  Suddenly he was sitting upright, alert.  She froze in place, willing him not to look her way.  Her patience paid off, but the mood was broken.  The hunter reached for the clean clothes he had brought with him.

Marguerite determined that this was an excellent time to make her escape.  He was alert now, no longer easy prey, if he ever had been, for the more ferocious denizens of the jungle.  _"No,"_ the financier of the expedition thought, _"I'd back him against anything we've come across.  T-rex, raptor, apemen, lizard man and apparently giant bees."_

With the same caution she displayed on her journey to the pond, she picked her way back to the treehouse.  Still, in the back of her mind, she settled on taking her own turn at the pond, when she could get a moment's privacy.

**_finis_**

**Authors' Notes: **

**More Than Human Episode notes: **  
Near the base of the treehouse a t-rex approaches.  As the explorers and Veronica back away, Marguerite is in the open, the t-rex intent on her as his prey.  Roxton edges between her and the t-rex and draws it away.  Subsequently, the explorers and Veronica are captured by lizardmen and taken to their city.  Tribune upon seeing them decides that Summerlee is too old to be of use and orders him killed.  Marguerite is able to convince him to spare Summerlee.  Veronica and Marguerite are earmarked to be entertainment for the gladiators, while the male explorers are thrown into a cell.

**Nectar Episode notes:**  
A giant bee stings Summerlee.  The effects of the venom can only be counteracted by the queen bee's royal jelly from the hive.  In order to get into the hive, Roxton, Veronica and Malone cut open a bee and spread the resulting slime on themselves.  To comfort Summerlee, who is delirious, Marguerite pretends to be his deceased wife.  She also yields up her silk undergarments so that Challenger has non-conducting fabric to use on his electric fence constructed to keep the apemen out.

**Reference Material:**  
So what did Roxton use for soap?  A little research found out about a plant called soap bark or soap tree that is native to Peru and Chile.  It seemed feasible that you might find it on the plateau.  As Marguerite might say, 'Everything else finds it way here.'  We played fast & loose with its preparation, but then we all know the only creature more impatient than a hungry t-rex is Lord John Roxton.  If you're interested in knowing more check out the botanical.com website. 

Soap Tree - Botanical: Quillaja saponaria (MOLINA.) Family: N.O. Rosaceae   
---Synonyms---Soap Bark. Panama Bark. Cullay.   
---Part Used---Dried inner bark.   
---Habitat---Peru and Chile, and cultivated in Northern Hindustan. 

While salamanders are not known denizens of the Amazonian jungle, it's no more improbable to find them there than it is to find velociraptors.


End file.
